Dishonor
by syrupjunkie
Summary: Taito in Olden Japan. An act of love, an act of inevitability, an act of dishonour, whose only remedy is the unthinkable.


Author's Notes:  Ooh, change of scenery.  Olden Japan.  I'm not very knowledgeable about olden Japan, but luckily, this fic's not too heavy in the detail department.  Forgive me if I've completely screwed up some cultural aspect.  Oh, and reviews are always nice.

Disclaimer:  Hmm…though my horoscope said I shall have an unexpected financial gain today, Digimon unfortunately is not it.  But it did find a penny on the street!  Why do I feel like I got gypped?

Dishonor 

The snow fell like white petals.  They drifted down to the ground in a movement of softness.  Yamato stared out at the blanketed courtyard, low rice paper doors locking him in.  He slowly drew open his door wider, letting the full chill breeze blow across the ground, over his lap, skimming along the wooden walls.  Flakes blew in to melt on his skin, along the corners of his drawn mouth, wetting the bamboo mats.  He set his jaw grimly and stared harder at the gnarled bare tree and the still icy pond.  He needed to keep these memories with him, to let the peacefulness of the scene fill his mind when he felt the fiery blade of his sword run through him.

It was impossible, he knew, impossible not to have caused such great dishonor to his family.  Not when he and Taichi had been thrown together so young and so close.  Always next to one another during training sessions, always together eating during breaks, elbow to elbow bent over tracing calligraphy.  It had been a summer evening when he lost the struggle with himself, when they had both crossed the forbidden line between acceptable and unforgivable.  

The air was wet with a humid breath of the sea, awash with the salty tang of breaking waves.  Dim lanterns glowed along the far away houses as practice drew to a close.  The meadow stood abandoned as each combatant gathered up his belongings and withdrew quickly.  Yamato opened his eyes after his meditation, scanning the gold green land around him.  He drew up short when he met Taichi's gaze.

"What's the matter?"

Taichi shuddered once and cast his eyes away, distracting himself with packing up his helmet and rags.  He spoke low, the kind of bareness that sounded more like the wind than words.  "Okaa-san packed me dinner.  I wanted to know if you wanted to eat with me here."

Yamato cursed himself as his mouth began to move, cursed himself even more as he spoke those irrevocable words.  "I'd like that."

Night had come swiftly, falling like a sleight of hand.  The lanterns beyond beckoned them home, but neither stirred.  Empty bowls and stained napkins had been abandoned around them, strewn about in fits of laughter and talk.  But now everything had drawn quiet, both of them staring off into the distance of the ocean, into the murky blackness where somewhere the sea joined the heavens.

Taichi broke the companionable silence first, sliding silently closer to Yamato.  "Yamato?"

Yamato stirred at the soft voice calling him, turning to find Taichi's face close upon his own, a hot breath tracing its way along his cheek.  He knew he was in danger, the sudden flickering of all those instincts that sensei had tried to make them aware of.  If he had been in the right presence of mind, he would have been able to escape, but instead he stood his ground, passively awaiting the destruction that stood inches away.  "Yes?"

A blackness had swallowed Taichi's form, leaving only a panting void around Yamato.  And all he heard was a broken voice, a quiet distraught 'I can't help it," before he knew the feel of Taichi's mouth, the slow awkward despairing movements.  He could not help it either, as his hands found the source of his frustration, combing through Taichi's knotted hair.

They had condemned themselves with the first fiery touch and they knew it.  But in those few moments where nothing seemed to hold any weight except knowing more of each other, condemnation was as insignificant as a dream.

Eventually they had been drawn back into themselves, drifting off into an uncomfortable strained silence that soon drove them both home, parting with mumbled goodbyes.  The next few weeks saw nothing between them; words had become deadly weapons and neither would draw first.

It was still impossible, the denial of the repulsive act they had done that no one knew about.  The confession was in their behaviour, every step to avoid, every exchange of words cut short.  They knew the truth couldn't be left unrealized forever, but they tried.

And again, Yamato knew the futility of ignorance.  Autumn had arrived with burst of cold and saw the beginning of the harvest.  The crops stood brown and dry, enclosed by a field of tarnished grass.  Yamato had arrived late, oversleeping.  The fields were already alive with activity when he turned up, women pulling out vegetables, men reaping rice.  He slipped in unnoticed, walking down the narrow aisle between towering plants.  He heard approaching footsteps and the crackling whoosh of a blade.  Hastily, he stepped back into a shadow, watching intently for supervisors.  He would not be punished for tardiness if he could help it.

Instead, a boy entered Yamato's view, the boy who drew Yamato involuntarily from his hiding spot like a sweet gaseous tug at his limbs.  Yamato watched Taichi reap, the fluid movement of strong arms, the soft sheen of sweat, the loose cloth that clung to his slim frame.  Yamato's voice thinned out to a husky whisper, entranced by such disastrous temptations.  "Taichi?"

Taichi looked frightened for an instant, jerking his head to find Yamato a few feet off.  He slowly regained his senses, dropping he knife to the side and approaching Yamato with cautious uncertainty.  "Yamato…"

Yamato wet his lips, feeling the churning heat in his body, the squelching pulse inside himself.  It was disgusting and unbidden.  "It's wrong."

Taichi nodded gravely.  "Of course."

"And impossible."

"Impossible…"

Like magnetism they had drawn together again, unconsciously sealed against each other.  Taichi broke away quickly, turning his head to listen for approaching footsteps.  He stared at Yamato feverously, quick blasphemous words on his lips.  "I don't care, Yamato…"

Yamato shook his head.  "I don't…"  He drifted off again, pressing himself against the other boy and knowing that each touch and each kiss only compounded his damnation.  And he really didn't care.

And when the supervisors punished them for leaving their section of the field unfinished, they had privately smiled sadly to themselves.  By then, they knew disaster was looming in anticipation.

Stolen moments, tender looks, the substance of illicit romance.  Quiet words when no one could hear, little snippets of affection that held more force than any samurai saga.  It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.

The training sessions had become more intense, harder and more challenging as rumors of another war were drifting around the village.  The sensei stood stone-faced quietly making discreet observations of his students, which one would live to be a hero, which ones would fall and be trampled into the ground.  Only now and then he would say something, sharp and fierce.  His eyes never left Yamato and Taichi as they fought, analyzing their moves, their stance, their attitude.  "Quicker."

Taichi jabbed quicker, the wooden sword in his hands flying off to the side of Yamato's shoulder.  Yamato blocked with his own katana, swinging to the side and twisting the weapon out of Taichi's hand.  He lightly thumped Taichi's ribs with his own weapon, ending the session.  As he regained his balance, he caught the cold eye of the instructor.

"You would be dead, Yamato, if you were this soft in battle."  He snapped at Taichi.  "Fetch your weapon.  No hesitation this time, think of the honour of victory."

Taichi obediently bowed and retrieved his sword, taking a defensive position again.  Yamato stared blankly at Taichi's form.  They began simultaneously, quickly playing out the art of war, swift slices, swifter blocks, all until Yamato had once again gained the upper hand, wresting Taichi's weapon from his grasp.  There was a moment of stillness as he caught sensei's eyes, as he struck the last blow, where all he wanted was the older man's acceptance.  And all he knew afterwards was the sickening judder of his katana as it cracked against Taichi's chest, the look of pain barely passing across his vision before Taichi slumped away.  

Sensei nodded appreciatively, motioning for other students to take Taichi away.  Yamato barely noticed the older man's slight compliment, instead focusing on the spot where he had betrayed the one he loved, traded in something that meant everything to him for a shred of acceptance.

He apologized profusely later, tending to Taichi's side as he wrapped a bandage around his bruised ribs.  Taichi only brushed away the apologies with whispers.  "Stop, Yama…"

Yamato quieted and watched Taichi smile softly.  Yamato's voice was blank, disassociated.  "I betrayed you, you know."

Taichi nodded gravely, staring ahead of himself.  "We betray ourselves.  Every time we pretend."  Taichi pulled Yamato down next to him, skimming his fingers along Yamato's neck.  "Every time we touch…"  Yamato closed his eyes to the pleasure and involuntarily returned the favour.

That night had made Yamato forget, almost deluded himself into believe that something so good could not be as dishonourable as it was said to be.  But when he awoke the next morning, curled around Taichi's naked body, his father staring down horrified from their side, he knew that his punishment had come.

It was surprising to him that there wasn't anger.  His father had been expressionless, icy.  "Put on your clothes Yamato."  As he slipped on into his clothes, Yamato caught Taichi's grim face disappearing around hall, his father's servant dragging him home.  Yamato's mother greeted him with tears, the same with his brother, both knowing that there was only one way out, one that Yamato never thought he would be forced to take.  His father brought him to the family room, quietly and carefully unstrapping his sword.  He dropped the weapon in front of Yamato, his face a moment of unmasked despair before he hastily left the room.  Yamato hesitated, watching the weapon with unfocused eyes.  He finally picked up the sword and headed quietly to his room, to be surrounded by his earthly possessions, ready to spill the blood that would reinstate his family's honour.

And here he was now, staring out across the expanse of the first snow, hand on the katana hilt, slowly drawing out the silvery blade.  He was cold, inside and out.  Taichi was probably dead already, his beautiful body laying crumpled in a red heap, head lifeless against the padded bamboo mats.  He cast a quick glance to his right, the rolled up scroll he had penned, the one that begged his family to place him next to Taichi.  He knew they wouldn't, but he felt better knowing that he tried.  Slowly the blade made its way up, the deadly point resting painfully against his stomach.  He swallowed slowly and closed his eyes, gathering up the courage for his duty.  Minutes, years, eternity, he filled the timeless black space with Taichi and the cherry blossom snow.  

Yamato pulled the sword away, ready to thrust, but found someone holding back his wrist, crushing his hand.  He snapped his eyes open, ready to explain to Takeru why he had to do it, but instead found himself fixed by Taichi's level gaze.  "You're not…"

"Dead?"  Taichi sneered.  "No, I'm not."

"But the dishonour…"  
  


Taichi straightened his sloping hat, tying it tighter to his head, his hair falling away from under the matted straw.  "The dishonour is giving up this easily."

Yamato put down the blade, sheathing it again.  "So what?  Be shunned and let our families be in disgrace?"

Taichi looked distractedly over his shoulder, seemingly looking out for signs of servants, but the courtyard remained stark white.  "Leave with me."

Yamato finally took notice of the heavy layers that wrapped Taichi's body, the thick cords that bound a bulging sack to his back, the tough cloth and wood on his feet.  "Now?"

Taichi nodded sadly, taking another quick look behind him.  "We have to; we can't stay and we can't take the _honourable_ way out."  He crouched to look Yamato, uncertain but earnest.  "There _is_ honour in love."

Yamato passed a fleeting glance at the sword at his feet before pulling out the blade and driving the weapon vertically into the floor.  Without another word, he began to pile up his possessions, wrapping them in a thick fabric.  Layers and layers of clothes followed, bound up and tied with Taichi's help.  He finished the last knot on his knapsack and took a quick look around the barren room, around the low building that was his home, along the courtyard where he used to play.  And he took a look at Taichi, the beautiful face, the deceptively slim frame and he knew he could just as easily leave his home behind.  "Let's go before a servant catches us."

Taichi nodded, reaching out for Yamato's hand.  Yamato took the offered hand and quickly led the way onto the porch, down the steps, running across the crunching courtyard and past the wooden welcome gates.  Down the well worn field path, the ivory meadow, farther and deeper.

They stopped at the main road, taking a final look behind them at the small village in front of the giant frosty sea.  The snow blew down harder, blurring the outlines of the buildings, sweeping away the ocean and the fields until only a thin stretch of their sanded footsteps remained.  Yamato watched Taichi watch him, the brown eyes flecked with snow.  And he kissed him, a long drawn out kiss, thorough without the quick desperate fear of being found out, without the consciousness of time, only the snow that would never judge them. 

Later a farmer would tell the Yagami and Ishida families that he may have seen two people heading off on the path to Edo, but he thought it was probably the snow playing tricks on him.

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Author's Notes:  The thing is I'd like to do a sequel to this, about Taichi and Yamato in Edo and everything, but that would definitely take some research and I'm not sure if I should put the effort in unless someone would even be interested.  So yeah…sequel maybe.


End file.
